Magnus Mills: Three to See the King

Philip, on the other hand, was much more of a stalwart figure who could be trusted to leave doors firmly closed. On the few occasions I’d been to his house, everything had been battened down securely against inclement weather. He had never struck me as the type who would be easily given to running round on half-baked schemes of the sort favoured by Steve. Nonetheless, the two of them seemed to get on very well together, so I didn’t question their friendship.

As they sat there at the table, with Steve already beginning to drum his fingers, I wondered what they’d come over for. Neither of them owed me anything, nor I them, and as far as I knew they weren’t in the habit of making calls just for the sake of saying hello. That was much more in Simon Painter’s line than theirs. The only other motive I could think of for the visit was that they wanted some sort of favour. I decided, therefore, that the best course of action was to make breakfast, and let them choose their moment.

‘House is looking good,’ remarked Philip, as he peered around the interior.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I try to keep it ship-shape.’

‘Hmm hmm,’ he murmured.

‘Probably be giving it a good spring-clean once this wind’s dropped.’

‘Hmm.’

He wasn’t the most talkative of people.

‘How’s your place these days?’ I asked.

‘Same as ever,’ he answered.

‘Tell him about your new weathercock,’ suggested Steve.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Philip. ‘I’ve got a new weathercock.’

For a second I thought he might expand on the subject, but instead he merely fell silent. Meanwhile his companion continued drumming on the table top. A violent gust of wind made the whole house creak, which in turn caused both of them instantly to glance towards the stairway. Then they looked expectantly in my direction, and I realized all at once why they’d come.

‘Everything alright?’ I asked, smiling.

‘Yes, yes,’ replied Steve. ‘Fine.’

‘OK then,’ I said. ‘I’ll start breakfast. Make yourselves at home.’

‘Thanks.’

The preparations took about twenty minutes, during which time soft footsteps could be heard moving around on the upper floor. However, I gave no sign of having noticed them.

When breakfast was almost ready I said, quite casually, ‘Would one of you mind laying the table?’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Steve, practically leaping to his feet.

He went and got some cutlery out of the drawer, and there then followed a long pause.

‘How many places shall I set?’ he asked at length.

‘Three of course,’ I replied. ‘Why?’

‘Is there no one else joining us then?’

‘Don’t know,’ I said.

‘Oh … er, right.’

‘I suppose you could lay an extra one if you want to, though, just in case.’

‘OK then.’

He busied himself around the table and finished laying it in seconds. Then I served up breakfast and the three of us began to eat.

‘You never can tell,’ I remarked, nodding towards the empty place. ‘Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t.’

As I finished the sentence I noticed that my two guests’ eyes had suddenly swivelled towards the stairs, and next thing Mary Petrie had come down.

‘Aha,’ I said. ‘Here’s a nice surprise.’

Without saying a word she passed behind my seat and slapped me hard on the back of the head. Then, in the stunned silence that followed, she poured herself a coffee and went back upstairs.

‘Friend of yours?’ asked Steve, keeping his voice low.

‘Yes,’ I replied, equally quietly. ‘She’s been here a few months now.’

That’s what we heard.’

‘From Simon Painter?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Does she do that often?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘First time.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘No, I certainly would not.’

‘Nor me,’ said Philip.

I looked at these two men sitting at my table: these two men who’d each spent the last few years living alone in a house of tin, and I realized that they knew even less about women than I did.

‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘Help yourselves to more coffee, and I’ll go up and sort this out.’

‘Alright,’ answered Steve. ‘But take care.’

When I got upstairs Mary Petrie was sitting on the bed leafing through one of her books. She kept these in her trunk because I hadn’t got round to putting up a shelf yet.

‘It’s Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling,’ I said.

‘So I gather,’ she replied, without looking up.

‘Don’t you want to meet them?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Cos they’ve come especially to see you.’

‘I don’t care!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not here for display purposes you know!’

‘Shush!’ I whispered. ‘They’ll hear you.’

‘Don’t shush me! They shouldn’t have banged on the wall with that hammer.’

‘No, that wasn’t them.’

‘What!?’

Just then the door was heard to open, and two pairs of feet trooped outside before it closed again.

‘It was me who banged on the wall,’ I explained. ‘I was teaching Steve a lesson for waking us up.’

‘Well, you’re as stupid as he is then.’

Her tone had softened slightly.

‘Are you going to come down and see them?’ I tried.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘They’ll be ever so disappointed.’

‘Tell them to come back another time, and knock on the door properly.’

‘OK.’

I dashed downstairs to intercept them, thinking they might have taken offence and left. When I got outside, however, Steve was busy shovelling sand while Philip stood watching.

‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘It’s sorted out now.’

‘Hmm hmm,’ murmured Philip.

‘She says you’re welcome to come and see us, but it’s a bit inconvenient today, if you don’t mind.’

‘No, no,’ said Steve. That’s fine. I’ll just finish clearing this sand, then we’ll be getting off.’

‘Well, I can do the sand myself,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘It’s no problem,’ he replied. ‘Just you relax, and I’ll have it done in no time.’

The pair of them returned a week later, and this time they came bearing gifts. Arriving at a civilized hour in the middle of the morning, they knocked gently on the door and waited to be invited in.

The gifts, they seemed to think, were the reason Mary Petrie gave them a friendly welcome, enquired about their health, and asked them to take a seat at the table. Little did they know that I’d spent the intervening days convincing her that they were two of the finest fellows I had ever known, and that therefore she shouldn’t treat them too harshly. They had no idea of the continual praise I’d heaped upon them, and the way I’d kept her entertained with hilarious stories of their various exploits. Gradually she had warmed to them, by proxy, and when I’d reminded her that they both wore identical coats she’d said she thought they sounded ‘quite sweet’. As a matter of fact, she finally conceded, she was rather looking forward to seeing them again. The gifts, if they’d known the truth, were merely icing on a cake I’d already made.

To my dismay we received a clock from Philip, while Steve presented us with a weathercock. This was similar to the one on top of his own house, and a little later he went outside to see if he could recommend a good place to fix it. Philip accompanied him.

‘I don’t want a weathercock,’ I said, once they were out of earshot. ‘I’ve lived here long enough to know which way the wind’s blowing without having to look. It’s west-southwest most of the time and hardly ever varies. What do I need with a weathercock when there’s a prevailing wind?’